


This Heart of Mine

by Daxs10thHost (beautyofsorrow)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautyofsorrow/pseuds/Daxs10thHost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom takes B'Elanna on a date to Fair Haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mentions of B'Elanna's previous trip to Fair Haven are references to DianeB's fic "All the Mornings Still to Come" on FFN.

_I realized a lot of things that I’d been hiding in this heart of mine,_

_I saw the beauty of a love that’s oh so true…_

 

“Horseback riding?  Very funny, Tom.”

            B’Elanna Torres didn’t even bother to look up from her console’s display, so sure she was of Tom’s jest.  _Tom?  On a horse?  Ha!  That’ll be the day._   _Voyager_ ’s history buff helmsman much preferred contraptions such as antique automobiles or pre-warp flight vessels from centuries past.  Horses?  Ridiculous.  If it wasn’t loud, fast, or run by an engine, Tom wasn’t interested. 

Tapping the glowing controls, B’Elanna flicked her eyes to the padd in her hand before nodding and moving on to her next victim.  The energy distribution in the warp coils had been fluctuating lately, and she wanted to regulate it before it became a problem…   _Plug the leak, save the ship_ , she thought, and ran her finger down the padd’s diagnostics display.

* * *

 

            Still standing at an abandoned console near Engineering’s main entrance, Tom watched B’Elanna sweep across the wide, thrumming room, padd in hand and mask of focus on her face.  Blue phantoms, compliments of the plasma waltzing in the warp core, swept across her smooth brown hair and exquisite features.  Just the sight of her made his heart beat faster. 

As he watched her, Tom found himself wondering if B’Elanna knew just how in control and competent she appeared while at work.  She didn’t just _run_ Engineering—she _owned_ it.  She knew it sleepwalking, fixed its problems as easily as a Q could create them, and still managed to know “her people” well enough to laugh and joke around with them.  In between warp core breaches and ship-wide failures, that is.  Only Kathryn Janeway in all her Starfleet glory could rival B’Elanna in the ways of command and respect. 

Tom smiled faintly, an outward reflection of the pride swelling within his heart.  It was here, in the heart of _Voyager_ , that B’Elanna shook off all her doubts and insecurities and became the woman she was born to be.

_“Horseback riding?  Very funny, Tom.”_

_Voyager_ ’s pilot suddenly remembered why he’d come down to Engineering in the first place.

“B’Elanna, I wasn’t joking,” he called out, attracting the attention of several yellow-clad crewmen.  “I mean it.  I’ve got a time picked out and everything.  And before you use it as an excuse, I’ve already cleared it with the Captain.  Barring an unforeseen Borg attack or a visit from our weekly ticked-off aliens, you’ve got the night off.  Captain’s orders.”  He raised his voice.  “And I can go to the Doctor, if I have to.”

_That oughtta get her attention._

It certainly drew a snicker from a lieutenant who looked suspiciously like Susan Nicoletti.

* * *

 

Tom finally dislodged himself from his spot by the environmental controls console and made his way to her side.

“You wouldn’t.”

B’Elanna hoped that her expression looked twice as dubious as her voice sounded.  Judging by the look on Tom’s face, which she could barely see in her peripheral vision, it would take at least that to convince him to drop this ridiculous notion.

“I would, and I will.  That is, if you don’t agree to it now.  Peaceably.  Like any woman in love with her date would.”

“First of all, I don’t believe you,” B’Elanna said, jabbing her finger at a final key, right hand already hovering over the next console.  “Second, the Doc would never lie.  I’m perfectly healthy, so he’d have no basis for relieving me of duty.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d ever go so far as _lying_ —you’re right on that.  But…” though she stared at the screen before her, B’Elanna could swear she saw Tom’s eyebrows rising, “…he _has_ been known to exaggerate on occasion.”

B’Elanna turned to fix him with a glare, fully looking at him for the first time since he proposed this ridiculous outing.  “You _wouldn’t_.”

He only looked at her.

“Ohh, I can’t believe you!” she growled, whirling back to the console.

“I take it that means you’ve decided to come with me, then.”

 _Not if I have anything to say about it!_ B’Elanna thought, furiously stabbing at the keys.  Luckily for her, their volume controls weren’t touch sensitive, and couldn’t protest the abuse.  “Why are you bringing me in on this, anyway?” she muttered, refusing to look at him.

“Why do I do anything with you, B’Elanna?”  

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she snapped, angry that the tenderness of his tone had punched through her defenses so easily.

Tom groaned and spread his arms, head lolling back to look at the ceiling.  “Because I _care_ about you and want to spend _time_ with you, okay?  Isn’t that what people who love each other do?”

Darn it, there wasn’t anything left for her to do at this console.  B’Elanna resisted the urge to pound the lacquered surface, and instead turned, flipped her hair back from her face, and leveled her tormentor with her best I-really-don’t-have-time-for-this-so-make-it-quick glare.  “Fine, Tom.  I’ll go horseback riding.”

A look of surprise and accomplishment flitted across his handsome face at her surrender, but he hid it quickly.  _Don’t get cocky yet, flyboy._ In truth, B’Elanna herself was surprised that she’d caved so quickly.  Especially considering the activity planned.  Horseback riding?  She suppressed a shudder.  She was sure to make a complete fool of herself.

B’Elanna sighed and planted a hand on her hip.  “But why Fair Haven?  Why not some other program tailored just for—” she waved her hand in the air, “—trail rides, or whatever they call it when you ride horses?”

“Ah,” he said, raising a finger.  She resisted the urge to bat it down.  “Did you forget?  You said you wanted to see Fair Haven in the daytime.”

“I was _drunk_ , Tom, and you know it,” she said, stomachs churning nervously.  The blurred memories of her first and only visit to Tom’s Irish town never failed to bring a wave of acute embarrassment.  B’Elanna scowled in hopes of hiding any traces of her mortification surrounding that night.  “Besides, I thought you said this would be a moonlit ride.”

“We’ll go in time to see the town, say hello to Michael and some of the others, then get down to the beach by sunset,” he said easily.

“Beach?” B’Elanna enunciated disbelievingly.

“It’s a seaside town—I thought you knew that.”

“All I _know_ , Tom, is that after I woke up the next morning feeling like the Battle of  Klach D’Kel Brakt was taking place in my head, I swore I’d never set foot in Fair Haven again.” 

She opted not to admit that her real reason for avoiding the town was the humiliation that had assaulted her when she’d realized she’d probably made a complete fool of herself in front of Tom, the Captain, and Michael Sullivan.  Who just happened to be Janeway’s holographic boyfriend.

Tom folded his arms across his chest and mimed squinting into the distance.  “Funny,” he began.  “I distinctly remember you saying you’d go back to the Vidiian prison camp before you set foot in my quaint little town.  And that was _before_ you paid your little visit to Michael’s pub.”

The words _Vidiian prison camp_ hit her like so many _bat’leth_ blows, and B’Elanna returned her attention to the console.  “Well, I obviously wasn’t thinking very clearly when I said that, now was I?”  Her words were soft; the truth was she couldn’t have spoken any louder for fear of her voice cracking.

Tom must have sensed the damage his words inflicted, for his right hand soon found her shoulder.  “B’Elanna,” he said, his tone gentle enough to make her stomachs attempt synchronized orbit with each other.  “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.” 

His other hand moved up to rub her back, but she turned to face him.  Even so, she carefully avoided his eyes, instead searching out her next work station.  When she’d found it, as well as her composure, she met his gaze.

“No, it’s okay, Tom.  I’m fine.”  She was careful to shutter her gaze, keep him from seeing just how painful the memories were to her.  “When is this excursion to take place?”

For a moment, staring into his eyes, B’Elanna thought he was going to cancel the whole thing, and something akin to panic welled inside her.  But then his blue eyes flickered back to their normal twinkle, his lips quirking into a smile. 

“How does Friday at 1900 sound?  Holodeck 2.  Wear pants and boots and you should be fine.  You might want sleeves after sunset, though; it gets a little chilly with the ocean breeze.”

Her relief was so palpable that it made her knees tremble.  Furious, B’Elanna crushed the emotion, the Klingon in her silently cursing her human weakness. 

She nodded and stepped past him to a work station.  “I’ll be there.”

_A lot sooner than you think._

* * *

 

            As she made her way through _Voyager_ ’s corridors, engineer’s kit in hand and heart threatening to launch itself out her throat, B’Elanna resisted the urge to tiptoe.  Still, she felt as if she were constantly looking over her shoulder, checking for—what? 

B’Elanna scolded herself for her childish behavior.  Tom, Harry, the Captain, and Chakotay were all on the bridge at the moment, manning the alpha shift.  There wasn’t a chance any of them would be roaming the halls of Deck 6, let alone following her to her destination.  Even if Janeway should order one of them down to Engineering, B’Elanna’s absence wouldn’t arouse any concern; she was working the gamma shift for the next three days.  And, if anyone from Engineering happened to be strolling the corridors during the lunch hour, they’d see their boss and her perpetual engineer’s kit and assume she was pulling yet another hour of overtime. 

            “So you have no reason to worry, Torres,” she muttered.  She threw a look over her shoulder for good measure.

            The moment the words _horseback riding_ had left Tom’s lips, B’Elanna had known she’d never mount a horse for the first time in front of him.  There was just no way.  And so, after allowing her body three hours of sleep to recover from the ten-hour night shift, B’Elanna had replicated a mug of _raktajino_ and set to work devising her plan.  Two hours later, she had it.

            It was foolproof.  Or so she hoped.

            One more turn brought her to her destination, and B’Elanna hurriedly keyed the controls. 

            _::Holodeck one ready for use.  Please load the desired program.::_   The pleasant, modulated voice of the ship’s computer sounded as loud as Klingon battle cries to B’Elanna’s nervous ears.  She’d organized this so carefully that she couldn’t help but feel paranoid.

            “Load Paris 042,” she said, forcing a normal voice.  _Please_ , she prayed to no one in particular, _please don’t let anyone see me!_

_::Program loaded.  Enter when ready.::_

            The silver doors broke apart, revealing a sunny, cobblestone street lined with stone buildings and wooden signs.  A handful of people milled about, but for the most part the street looked empty.  Seeing as the program ran on ship’s time, B’Elanna guessed that the majority of Fair Haven’s occupants were home for their afternoon meals.     

Steeling herself, though for what she didn’t know, B’Elanna re-gripped the handle on her engineer’s kit and strode into the town.  Once inside, with the holodeck doors safely shut, she couldn’t help but admire her surroundings.  The first time she’d come, the engineer in her had taken time only to admire the authenticity of the technology and building materials of the time period—such as handmade bricks and cobblestone streets.  The fact that she’d come in the dead of night limited her exposure, as well.

But now, in full daylight, B’Elanna was free to drink in everything about Fair Haven—the sights, smells, sounds, and overall feel of the little town.  As her eyes wandered from the handsome lettering on the various shop signs to a pair of conversing seagulls in the sky, her toes traced the stones underfoot.  A breeze rippled through her hair, and B’Elanna inhaled.  The wind tasted of salt, and stung her throat pleasantly.

Grudgingly, B’Elanna began to see why Paris 042 was the most popular program in _Voyager_ ’s database. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she’d been transported planetside, dropped into an Earth village long past.  It had a certain appeal, this idyllic town.

“Well, now here ’sa lass I haven’t seen before, Seamus!”

A crusty voice, rimed with an Irish accent, startled B’Elanna from her musings.  She turned and came face-to-face with two grizzled men—one short and squat, sporting a wiry gray mustache, the other long and thin, pale blue eyes squinting from underneath a curious hat that Tom had once called a _beret_.

The squat one, Seamus, B’Elanna guessed, closed one eye and gave her an appraising look.  After several moments of looking her up and down, he nodded and pronounced, “Aye, an’ a pretty one she is, too.  I reckon ye’re from that, ah…that strange place off in th’ future, marm, judgin’ by yer curious clothes.  What do ye call ’em?  Yer… _uni_ -forms?”

“Be ye a friend of young Tom Paris or Harry Kim?” the one with the hat asked.

B’Elanna worked her fingers along her kit’s handle, palm slick against the grip.  “Uh, yes.  Yes, I am.”

“Well, then,” Seamus grinned broadly, revealing a set of crooked yellow teeth, “pleased t’ have ye!  Any friend of Tommy’s a friend o’ mine!”  His smile faded and he shuffled a bit closer, craning his neck toward B’Elanna’s face.  A wave of alcohol-laden breath crashed into her, and B’Elanna resisted the urge to stagger backwards.  “Erm, ye wouldn’t happen t’ have an extra penny or two on ye, would ye?  Ye see, it’s me wife again.  She’s gone and—”

“For shame, Seamus, treatin’ a pretty lass like her this way—an’ one ye’ve barely met, too!”  Turning to B’Elanna, “Pay him no mind, miss!  He’s up t’ his old tricks again.”  Back to Seamus, “Did yer mother ever teach ye manners?  Say, ye didn’t even get her name.”

“Torres,” B’Elanna supplied, sliding back a step.  “B’Elanna Torres.  And…I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m sort of on a schedule.  You wouldn’t happen to know where the stables are, would you?”

“Oh my, yes, I know where the stables are,” the gangly man said.  “It’s just down this road apiece, an’ t’ the left.  Ye’ll know it by th’ smell, most likely, but if that don’t help ye, look for a green sign that says _Brogan’s Livery_.  Ye can’t miss it.”

B’Elanna nodded and took another step back, trying to plaster on a smile.  “Thank you, Mister…?”

“Milo.  Milo’s the name.  And no mister in front, especially t’ a lass as lovely as you.”

“Milo.  Thank you, Milo.  And you, too, Seamus.  You’ve been a wonderful help.”  With that, B’Elanna fled down the indicated street. 

It didn’t take her long to find the stables.  Milo was right—B’Elanna guessed its whereabouts by the smell assaulting her olfactory nerves well before she spotted the sign with _Brogan’s Livery_ carved into its brown paint.  Pausing, she studied the long building with its sloping roof and darkened interior.  It seemed harmless enough, barring the smell.  So why was she so nervous?

 _You’re being ridiculous, Torres_ , she chided, tapping her kit against her leg.  _It’s just a holodeck.  If things get out of hand, you can always halt the program._   She knew she wouldn’t.  B’Elanna licked her lips.

Breathing shallowly, she walked through the double doors.  Once inside, she found herself awash with shadows, standing at the end of a long, straw-strewn aisle.  Stalls marched into the gloom on either side of her, with breaks in the middle left and far right end, it looked.  B’Elanna squinted down the aisle, trying to find the owner—Brogan, she guessed.  Empty.  _Just my luck._

A gentle snort sounded to her right, and B’Elanna whirled.

Wide black eyes greeted her, peeking out of a curtain of silvery hair.  _A forelock_ , B’Elanna miraculously remembered from her fifth grade exobiology class.  Her teacher had devoted an entire month to the study of animals used for transport before the days of shuttlecrafts or…automobiles.  Try as she might, she couldn’t get used to the strange language Tom spoke as easily as he breathed.  The horse whickered again, drawing her back to the present.

“Hey there,” B’Elanna said softly, feeling foolish.  What should she do?  Pet it?  Walk on?  Keep talking to it?  The horse bobbed its head gently, and B’Elanna took a step closer and peered into the stall. 

The animal’s sleek coat shone silver in the dim light.  Tiny black dots were spattered across its neck and back, as if a frustrated artist had flipped a wet paintbrush in its direction.  Though she’d seen only a handful of holos as reference, B’Elanna thought the horse was beautiful, in an unearthly sort of way.  Did all horses’ coats shine like that?  The horse nudged B’Elanna’s shoulder with its nose, then swung its head over the partition and disappeared into the shadows. 

Scooting back, B’Elanna noticed a wooden plate nailed next to the half door.  _Briley_ , it read.  B’Elanna wondered if that was the horse’s name, and whether it was male or female.  Briley.  Though strange—at least to B’Elanna—she found herself liking it.

“Hallo down there!  Who’s that in th’ doorway?” B’Elanna started at the call, lilting accent so incongruous with its rumbling bass.

She turned to face the disembodied voice.  “B’Elanna Torres, from _Voyager_.”

“B’Elanna Torres?” the voice echoed, coming closer.  “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard b’fore.  But ye say ye’re from that Voyager place, eh?”  B’Elanna could now make out the hulking shape of a man moving toward her.  She firmed her chin and stayed put. 

“Yes, I’m from _Voyager_.  But I’ve never visited Fair Haven before.  Well, not during the day, that is,” this last part she mumbled.

“Say what?” the voice boomed.  “Ye’ll have t’ speak up, lassie; Old Brogan’s not as young as ’e used t’ be.”

“Nothing,” B’Elanna said quickly, just as the man drew to a stop in a patch of light filtering through a window.  Her eyes widened.  So _this_ was Brogan.

Standing well over six feet tall and the epitome of the term big-boned, Brogan seemed to fill the entire aisle.  With a head of curly black hair that matched the carpet on his arms and a beard wiry enough to scrub plasma conduits, he looked more bear than man.

As he squinted down at her five-foot four frame, B’Elanna had to struggle to keep her jaw from dropping.  This wasn’t a man—he was practically a _Galaxy_ -class starship!

“Well, lassie, are ye gonna stand there an’ gawp all day or are ye gonna tell me what ye’re doin’ here in a dusty old stables when every other folk in their right mind is off eatin’ lunch?”

“I’m…I’m here for riding lessons.” 

“Riding lessons, eh?  What makes ye think I give those?”

“You’ve got horses, haven’t you?”

Brogan threw his head back and roared with laughter.  “I like yer spunk, lassie!”  She narrowed her eyes.  “Tell ye what—you get yerself outta that spiffy _uni_ form an’ int’ somethin’ a little more fittin’ for horseback riding, an’ I’ll give ye a lesson or two.”

B’Elanna breathed a silent prayer of thanks.  “Is there someplace I can change?”

Brogan jerked a thumb over his mountainous shoulder.  “Down the aisle an’ t’ yer right.  You can use th’ tack room, but be sure t’ latch th’ door shut.  Ye wouldn’t want any of th’ stable boys barging in on ye.”

B’Elanna nodded and edged past him, hurrying to the small, one-windowed room.  After ensuring that the door was securely closed, she threw open her engineer’s kit and withdrew some old clothes and a pair of flat-heeled boots.  Throwing them on, she stuffed her uniform and shoes into the box and ran a hand through her hair.  She glanced down, straightening her tunic with a few tugs and working her toes down into the unfamiliar boots.  She’d replicated them after paging through holos of riding gear and realizing that her high-heeled uniform boots would likely become entangled in the stirrups.  Satisfied with her appearance, B’Elanna grabbed her supposed kit and exited the room.

As she emerged, Brogan eyed her.  “Better, though I doubt I’ll ever get used t’ seein’ a lady in trousers.”

B’Elanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  Other members of _Voyager_ ’s crew might find dressing in the era’s fashions amusing, but she wasn’t about to don a floor-length, long-sleeved dress that looked able to choke her.  Especially when she planned to mount a four-legged beast with only a flimsy set of reins as controls.  Well, maybe not a _beast_ , she amended, thinking of the silver horse’s eyes.

“If ye want a ridin’ lesson, ye’ll have t’ have ye a horse first,” Brogan asserted.  Then, with a swiftness that belied his massive form, he strode down the aisle.  Dropping her kit by the tack room door, B’Elanna hurried to catch up with him.  As they walked, Brogan pointed out horses and their names.

“That one over t’ yer left is Miach—our youngest colt in th’ stable,” he pointed to a medium horse with a reddish coat.  “He’s about two years old, full o’ his old man’s fire, an’ Kellan’s—me son’s—favorite.  An’ this one” pointing to a grizzled nut-brown creature, “is Grady, our oldest.  He’s me wife’s favorite, but that’s prob’ly because he was our first horse when we came t’ Fair Haven.  Over there t’ yer right is Cadhla,” he waved, pronouncing the name _Kyla_.  “She’s little Bryna’s dame, an’ certainly a handful.  An’ up here is…”

 _I hope he knows I’m not going to remember all this stuff_ , B’Elanna thought as she tuned out, struggling to keep up without tripping over her feet.  How was it that she could keep her footing in high heels with the ship bucking underneath her from Borg attacks, but not in flats on a stationary dirt aisle? 

When at last Brogan halted, along with his monologue, B’Elanna realized that they were back at the silver horse’s stall.  The big man made a low clicking sound in the back of his throat, and the horse’s head swung over the partition, bobbing its nose along Brogan’s arm and chest.

“This,” he said, rubbing the animal’s ears affectionately, “is Briley.  She’s th’ one ye’ll be ridin’, bein’ as she’s our gentlest.”

Part of B’Elanna bristled at the implication that she couldn’t handle anything more than a docile mare, but the other part—the part of her that wanted desperately to get out of this place in one piece—sagged with relief. 

“I believe ye met her on yer way in, but I’ll give ye a few more minutes t’ get acquainted while I get th’ gear.  Go ahead an’ lead her t’ the open stall down to th’ left an’ cross-tie ’er.”  Then, before B’Elanna could even open her mouth to ask what cross-tying was, Brogan was gone.

 _Great_ , she fumed.  _Just great._

Briley snorted gently, and B’Elanna turned to her.  Those same ebony eyes gazed back at her, soft and more than a bit playful, peeking out from under that thick forelock.  “You know,” she said, reaching a tentative hand up to the horse’s nose, “you have eyes exactly like someone I know.  His name’s Chakotay.”  _And he’d probably laugh his head off if he could hear me right now, comparing him to a horse._

Briley nudged her head against B’Elanna’s palm and puffed warm breath down her bare arm.  “I suppose I should get you out, shouldn’t I?”  After a quick search, B’Elanna found a brass bolt at the corner of the door and slid it back, grasping the buckled strap at Briley’s chin as she did and hoping desperately that she was doing the right thing.

Together, they ambled down the hall to the place Brogan had indicated.  A space about the size and a half of a stall greeted them.  B’Elanna stopped, bewildered.  What had Brogan said to do again?  Cross-tie her?  How the heck was she supposed to do that?  Spotting two ropes dangling at opposite ends of the doorframe, she backed Briley into the space and grabbed one of them.  It ended in a metal clasp of some sort that looked like a closed question mark, except it slid open with the downward pull of a lever.  Glancing at the strap around Briley’s head, B’Elanna cocked an eyebrow and tilted the rope.  It looked about right…

Before she could change her mind, B’Elanna slid the clasp into one of the metal buckles on Briley’s head-strap and moved to the other side to do the same.  Soon, the silver mare was cross-tied (or so B’Elanna hoped) to the doorframes.  And not a moment too soon.

Brogan tromped into view, a bucket of brushes and unfamiliar tools dangling from his fingertips.  “Well!” he exclaimed.  “Ye’re not so clueless after all.  Ye’re th’ first one of th’ Voyagers besides that Naomi girl who knew how t’ cross-tie a horse without me tellin’ ’em how t’ do it.”

The words sent a wave of pleasure surging through her, until Brogan thrust the bucket of brushes into her arms.  “Here,” he grunted, “now ye get t’ groom ’er.”

“ _Groom_?”

Brogan rolled his eyes and sighed so hard B’Elanna felt a breeze.  “Aye, I knew it was too good t’ be true,” he grumbled, and plonked the bucket into the dirt.  Stooping, he retrieved an odd-looking object and held it level with her eyes.  B’Elanna couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. 

“This,” Brogan began, “is a curry-comb, an’ it’s th’ first brush ye use when ye’re groomin’ a horse.  That’s also why ye sometimes call it currying.  Now, when ye use a curry-comb, there’re a few things t’ remember.  One, ye stick yer fingers in like so—” here he pushed his four fingers inside the rubber strap, leaving his thumb on the outside, gripping the edge.  “Second,” he began again, “ye always move in a circular motion, top t’ bottom an’ front t’ end.”  He demonstrated by pressing the round brush against Briley’s coat and circling gently, moving from the middle of her neck to her shoulder.  “An’ third—don’t be shy.”

“Shy?”

“Don’t be afraid t’ get down in there—almost like ye’re scrubbing somethin’.  Lotta times, th’ horses’ll lean int’ it—see?”

B’Elanna nodded.  It seemed the smartest thing to do.

“Now, you try.”

Brogan thrust the comb into her hand, nodding to the mare.  “She’s ready an’ waitin’.”

Sliding her fingers under the strap, B’Elanna stepped up to Briley and pressed the comb to the speckled coat.  As she moved it against the muscled shoulder, the strap slid from her knuckles to her fingers and back again, making her efforts more rectangular than round.  She felt awkward and foolish, doing this.  What if someone from _Voyager_ wandered in?

“Here,” Brogan rumbled, reaching over her shoulder.  “Try grippin’ yer thumb tighter an’ bending yer fingertips.  Yeah, like that.  Better?”

The curry-comb suddenly felt firmer in her grasp, and B’Elanna nodded.  “Much.”  For the next ten minutes, she worked on Briley’s left side, while Brogan curried her right.  Finally, after she’d massaged the last tender spot on the mare’s belly, B’Elanna slid the comb off her cramped fingers and sighed. 

“Ahh, that feels good.”

“Glad t’ hear it.  Now reach down in that bucket an’ get those two big brushes—th’ ones with th’ stiff bristles an’ wooden backs.”

“You mean there’s _more_?” B’Elanna cried, despairing of ever leaving the place.

“ ’Course there’s more, girl!  Ye don’t think we’d curry up all this dirt an’ let it sit there, do ye?”

 _I don’t see any dirt_ , B’Elanna thought, but bit her tongue before she said it aloud.  “No, I suppose not,” she muttered, bending to retrieve the new brushes.  “So,” handing one to the stable master, “what are these called?”

“Dandy brushes,” he grunted, flicking his curry-comb into the bin.  “Ye use ’em everywhere but her legs an’ head.”

“Got it,” B’Elanna said, and began a wide sweep down Briley’s flank.

“No, no, no,” Brogan mumbled, tossing his hands in the air.  “Ye don’t use long strokes like that—ye just get th’ dirt all caught under again if ye do.  Short ones, an’ go with th’ growth of th’ hair, see?”

B’Elanna bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.  _Never again.  I am never doing something as stupid as this again._

After a few minutes, Brogan handed her another brush that looked identical to the one already in her hand.

“Something wrong with this one?”

“This’s a body brush.  Softer, easier on her legs an’ face.”

“Oh.” 

“Also th’ last brush before th’ saddle.  Now, you give her a good groomin’ with that one, an’ I’ll pick her hooves.”

B’Elanna didn’t bother to ask what he meant by that; she just brushed.

At last they were done.  As B’Elanna surveyed the now-gleaming Briley, she noted that every speck of dust that had dulled the horse’s coat now covered her clothes.  _What I wouldn’t give for a sonic shower_ , she thought ruefully.

“Nicely done, B’Elanna Torres of Voyager.  Nicely done.”  Brogan dusted his hands along his massive thighs. 

“Now are we ready to ride?” B’Elanna asked hopefully.

“No, but we’re ready t’ tack her up.”  Grabbing the brush bucket, he lumbered off to the tack room once more.

“That’s what I meant,” B’Elanna muttered, kicking stray dust particles.  She growled, digging her hands into her hips.  Turning to Briley, she asked, “Is he always this difficult?”

The horse merely stared back at her with those wide black eyes. 

It didn’t take long for Brogan to return, this time bearing a mass of leather and metal that made B’Elanna’s head ache.  It looked like a Maquis repair job, only twice as dangerous and not nearly as effective. 

“What is _that_?” she asked before she thought better of it.

“Saddle, bridle, saddle blanket,” he answered, and dumped most of it into her arms.  B’Elanna staggered under the weight and glared at him.  “Now, I’ll do th’ bridle, seein’ as it’s more complicated, an’ you’ll do th’ saddle.  Blanket goes first, an’ just make sure th’ saddle’s on square b’fore ye cinch it up.”

After a few awkward attempts, B’Elanna managed to center both the saddle and blanket on Briley’s back, as well as buckle it—without Brogan’s help.  She allowed a surge of pride when he didn’t feel the need to check her work.

Dropping the cross-ties, Brogan led Briley from the stall, B’Elanna alongside them, and together they made their way outside.  She followed them to a wide, fenced-in area, and stopped just inside the gate.

“Ye see this?” Brogan asked, pointing to a wooden step-stool.  “This’s th’ mounting stool.  It helps ye get up on th’ horse without fallin’ on yer head.  Now—when ye go t’ mount, ye always put yer left foot in th’ left stirrup, an’ swing yer right leg over.  Same when ye go t’ dismount—always on th’ left.  Got it?  Step up here an’ try.”

B’Elanna fit her toes into the irons and swung into her seat as instructed.  Brogan showed her how to hold the reins, then stepped back and squinted at her. 

“Now don’t go pullin’ on them reins so hard.  Relax a little—give ’er her head.  Yeah, that’s it.  Now, just squeeze with yer knees an’ give her a click with yer tongue.  If that don’t work, try a nudge with yer heels.”

B’Elanna clucked, and Briley moved forward.  She glanced back at Brogan. 

“Yer doin’ fine, B’Elanna.  Keep givin’ her th’ reins an’ relax.  Look straight through her ears.  Heels down, toes to th’ sky.  Pressure in yer knees.”

The barrage of instructions tensed her muscles, but Briley’s gait was smooth and easy, almost rocking in its cadence.  B’Elanna began to relax, and the pressure on her knees slacked off.

“Now turn ’er back towards me—gently,” Brogan called.  “That’s it.”

Briley turned, and B’Elanna with her.  But by the time the horse had straightened and continued toward the waiting Irishman, B’Elanna was still turning—and the saddle with her.  B’Elanna had just enough time for the word _falling_ and a particularly colorful Klingon phrase to flash through her brain before the ground rushed up to meet her. 

The impact rattled her teeth and sent a shaft of pain through her hip.  Laughter exploded in the still air, and she clenched her fists.  A hologram.  Laughing.  At her. 

B’Elanna’s blood fairly boiled.

“Oh-ho, Briley, ye pulled that trick, did ye?” Another roar, and the sound of a hand slapping his knee.  An image of Brogan strung over a fire pit by his fingertips flashed through her mind.  “What’s th’ matter, B’Elanna Torres—can’t take a little dirt in yer face?  Ye just gonna sit there while Briley learns t’ walk?”

B’Elanna slammed her hands into the sand and rocketed to her feet.  “This,” she seethed under her breath, “is ridiculous.  I’m an engineer, not a circus clown.  I fix things.  I save the ship from blowing apart on a daily basis—I’ve even outwitted the almighty Borg in all their technological glory.”  She stomped across to Briley, standing placidly a few feet from where her rider had fallen, saddle now slung around her belly.  “But I _don’t_ take insults from a pompous windbag who isn’t even real!”

As she re-saddled Briley and led her to the mounting stool once again, B’Elanna had the sickening feeling that the next four days were going to be very long ones.

Very long ones indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

B’Elanna’s toes were on fire.

Gritting her teeth, she stared at the empty hologrid and wrestled with the decision before her.  B’Elanna chewed her lip, balancing her weight on her left foot.  Either way, she’d eventually get to her quarters where she could cobble together an osteo-regenerator with parts from her dermal regenerator and personal engineer’s kit.  And either way, she faced the possibility of answering questions she really didn’t want asked.

_“B’Elanna, why did you authorize a site-to-site transport from holodeck one to your quarters yesterday afternoon?”_

_“Is there something you neglected to tell me, Lieutenant?”_  

_“Sam Wildman mentioned seeing you on Deck 6 the other day—said you were limping pretty badly.  Odd that the Doctor didn’t know anything about it when I asked him how you were.”_

In other words, _“Have you been running holodeck programs without their safeties again?”_

Sometimes, B’Elanna wondered if she’d bear the suspicion of her past mistakes forever.  For now, though, she had a decision to make.

She touched her foot to the ground and hissed at the fire lancing through her bones.  Even so, she pressed harder, fingernails biting her palms, and squared her weight.  Tears burned her eyes, but they were nothing compared to the pain hammering her foot.

For several long moments, B’Elanna stood there and drilled all her focus into the pain, driving it into a crumpled ball deep inside her.  Then, when she was sure she had control, she moved toward the door.

Agony.  White-hot.  Full-on and merciless.

This was going to be the longest walk of her life.

She made it to the exit without screaming, and then into the empty hallway.  From there she limped to the turbolift, saving her stoic gait for when she wasn’t alone.  When the doors swished open to reveal an empty ’lift, B’Elanna collapsed against the wall in relief. 

“Deck nine,” she croaked, and closed her eyes.  Her entire foot felt as if someone had dropped a section of the _Delta Flyer_ ’s hull-plating on it and sent a herd of targs stampeding across it.  Why oh why had she given in to Tom’s coaxing?  She’d said no to him plenty of times before.  So why not now? 

The ’lift stopped, and B’Elanna shuffled out.  She hadn’t taken two steps before a body slammed into her, throwing all her weight onto her bad foot and forcing her to bite through her tongue to keep from screaming. 

“Mezoti!” a deep voice called, full of righteous anger.  Well, as righteous and angry as any former Borg could get.  B’Elanna cracked her eyes open and looked up to see Seven of Nine striding toward her errant charge with the air of an instructor bearing down on a tardy cadet.

Mezoti glanced at Seven and then turned to B’Elanna, looking one part guilty and three parts resigned to whatever new punishment her guardian could dig up in _Voyager_ ’s parenting database.  “I’m sorry, B’Elanna.  I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“You may address her as Lieutenant Torres, Mezoti, not B’Elanna.  And you would not have to apologize to her if you hadn’t resisted my instruction in the first place,” Seven chastised, drawing alongside the brown-haired girl.  Meanwhile, B’Elanna wondered if it were clinically possible to die of broken toes.

“But I don’t _want_ to exercise in the gym!  I want to play with Flotter and Naomi!” Mezoti stamped her foot.  The sound made B’Elanna wince. 

“I don’t care what you do or do not want to do.  Your recreational activities are not scheduled for another two hours, and before then you must complete your allotted half-hour of exercise, as well as your culinary and botanical sessions with Neelix and Crewman Lessing.  Now, enter the turbolift in the proper fashion and prepare to discuss your punishment.” 

Mezoti did as she was told, but with her arms crossed and chin jutting. 

Seven turned to B’Elanna.  “I apologize for any inconvenience on your part, Lieutenant.  I trust that you are undamaged?”

“No problem,” B’Elanna said weakly.  “I’m fine.”  _Not_.

Seven nodded.  “Then I will see you at the next staff briefing.”  With that, the former drone disappeared into the ’lift. 

B’Elanna let out a whimper and headed for her quarters. 

An agonizing four minutes later, she was there, tools in hand and foot propped on a mound of pillows.  Even with her pain-fuzzed brain, it didn’t take her long to rig a passable osteo-regenerator, and even less time to yank off her boot (accompanied by a savage yowl) and mend her mangled toes. 

Rubbing the tender appendages, B’Elanna leaned back and sighed, allowing days of tension to seep from her muscles.  Four hours on the holodeck was enough to do anyone in—especially someone with only ten hours of sleep in the past three days. 

B’Elanna rose and ordered a _raktajino_ from her replicator, knowing she’d get little—if any—sleep before her shift started.  As she returned to the couch, she considered the past three days.

After the saddle incident—which she’d since learned to circumvent—her first riding lesson had seemed fraught with complications, ranging anywhere from crooked posture to a frustrated riding instructor and back again, not to mention her irascible Klingon temper.  By the time Brogan allowed her out of the saddle, both B’Elanna and the Irishman were a tired, gritty mess.  Only Briley had seemed content in her state, calmly following wherever Brogan or B’Elanna led her.  Of course, she’d greatly enjoyed the grooming and feeding she’d received at the end of the lesson, compliments of an ill-humored chief engineer.  B’Elanna didn’t like taking orders from anyone, least of all holograms.

The second day had seen another round of grooming, mounting, dismounting, slipping, sliding, and tipping, but thankfully no falls.  By the end of the lesson, she’d mastered the art of balancing in the saddle at both a walk and a trot, learned how to stop and start her mount with minimal movement, and had taken Briley around the arena several times without incident.  She’d also, against her better judgment, grown quite fond of the silver mare.

Today had seemed almost pleasant, compared to the days before it.  Brogan had trusted her enough to saddle his own horse—a massive one he called a draft breed—and ride around with her.  She’d also learned to canter—a gait she found relaxing and easiest to seat. 

It hadn’t been until the post-lesson grooming that the day had turned bad.

B’Elanna flexed her toes and grimaced at the lingering soreness.  _Stupid draft horse_ , she thought, and took a scalding gulp of coffee.  Then again, it hadn’t been Ronan’s fault for stomping on her foot.  She’d been the one to go up to his shoulder and pet him while Brogan cleaned Briley’s hooves, standing with one leg popped out, well within the range of his dangerous hooves.  And she’d been the one to let her attention wander, permitting the fatigue of secret-keeping to catch up with her.

She’d also been the one to yelp like a scalded Grishnar cat when Ronan idly stamped his hoof onto the corner of her foot.  No amount of replicated leather could have protected her from that formidable weapon.

B’Elanna took another swig of _raktajino_ , considered it, and then plopped it onto her coffee table.  Her chronometer told her she had just enough time for a shower and a quick nap, then dinner in the mess hall before heading to Engineering.  Yawning, B’Elanna stretched and padded off to the ’fresher, already imagining what it would feel like to sprawl on her bed, clean and duty-free for a few hours. 

And she didn’t have to worry about keeping secrets from her pillows.

* * *

 

Breakfast in hand, B’Elanna eased into a chair, back to the room and face to the stars.  Though she sat as if on broken glass, even the chair’s full padding and her ginger movements couldn’t keep the pain at bay.  Her tray clacked onto the table as she sucked a breath through her teeth. 

Saddle sores.

Brogan had said she’d have them, but she hadn’t believed him.  Even after she’d woken up stiff as a corpse in rigor mortis the morning after her first lesson, B’Elanna hadn’t thought the pain would last longer than a few hours.

It was now Friday. 

As she ate her breakfast and studied Seven and Vorik’s latest theories on improving warp core efficiency, she shifted, crossing her legs, then uncrossing them, then crossing them again, but at the ankles.  It was all in vain; no matter how she sat, slouched, or perched, that dull aching was still there.

“Feeling a little restless, Maquis?”

B’Elanna looked up at the familiar voice.  “Harry,” she said flatly, still mired in the world of modified warp coils and aching behinds. 

“Last time I checked.”  He smiled and slid into the seat across from her.  “So,” he began, tucking into his meal, “what’s up?  Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Gamma shift.”

“Mm,” he said around a mouthful of what looked like eggs, “Neelix made good substitutes for once.  You should try them.  And yeah, I’ve got the gamma shift tonight, too.  Think you could spare a few minutes for a boredom visit?”

“Sorry, Harry—you’re on your own.  I’ve got a date with Tom tonight.”

“Lucky,” Harry muttered, stabbing something that resembled a fuzzy carrot.  “That is,” he stammered, “not the Tom—uh, I mean, not the date part.  Lucky that you get the night off is…what I meant.”

B’Elanna smirked at Harry’s embarrassment.  “I thought you liked chairing the night watch, Starfleet.”

“Usually I do.”  A striped tuber succumbed to his teeth.  “But Chakotay assigned me the walking dead of a bridge crew this month.  They hardly ever talk—it’s like they’re all telepathic.  Or holograms with shot vocal subroutines.”

“Or maybe they’re just so in awe of the great Buster Kincaid that all they can do is stare in your presence.”

Harry scoffed, nearly choking on his faux coffee.  “Right.  _Tom’s_ the celebrity.  I’m just his sidekick.”

Eyes dancing, B’Elanna gripped her empty tray and stood.  “Well, Tom might be the celebrity, but you don’t look half so ridiculous walking to and from the holodeck.”

“Mmhh!” Harry exclaimed, eyes widening.  He swallowed and grabbed her elbow.  “That reminds me!  I was visiting Fair Haven yesterday, and Seamus mentioned seeing you there.  I guess you caved and tried it out after all,  huh?  Pretty great, isn’t it?  I mean, the town, the peop—”

“Seamus told you _what_?” B’Elanna exclaimed, collapsing into her seat.  The saddle sores didn’t even bother her now.  All she could think about was Tom and how much time he spent in Fair Haven, playing rings and chewing the fat with the locals.  With Seamus.  With Milo.  And Kellan and Brogan and all the rest of the unnamed faces she’d encountered over the past three days. 

She felt Harry’s eyes on her.  “He said he’d seen you around the past few days.  Is something wrong?”

“Wonderful,” she began, and launched into a muttered, mostly-Klingon diatribe, knuckles white around her tray.

“Uh, B’Elanna?  Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

B’Elanna suddenly realized she’d blown any chance of laughing Harry’s comment off and leaving to indulge a private panic-attack in her quarters.  _Smart, Torres.  Real smart._

“Harry—promise me you won’t tell anyone else what you just told me.”

“What? why?”

“Just— _don’t_.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Harry.  Now promise you won’t tell.”

“You’re acting really strange.”  Harry’s brow was furrowed, hand reaching for his combadge.  “Maybe you should—”

“I swear, Harry, if you don’t promise to shut up about this, I’ll rip your arm out of its socket.”

Extreme, but it got his attention.  “Whoa, Beowulf, calm down.  It was just a—I don’t know.  A—”

“Disaster if Tom finds out.  Now— _promise_!”

“All right, I promise!” Harry squawked.  “Now will you please tell me what’s going on?  Or do I have to swear to purge my memory if you do?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Well?”

B’Elanna sighed.  “Okay.  But you—”

“—can’t tell anyone.  Got it.  Now shoot.”

“All right.  I went there for riding lessons.”

Harry’s jaw nearly unhinged.  “Riding lessons?!  Why in the name of Neelix’s cooking would you want to learn to ride a horse?”

“Keep it down!  I don’t want anyone else to know.  I’m doing it because we’re going horseback riding—Tom and I—for our date tonight.”

“And you have to keep it a big secret from him…why, exactly?”

“Are you kidding?  There isn’t a chance in the galaxy I’d ride a horse for the first time in front of him.”

“Why not?  He’s never done it before—trust me.  I’d’ve remembered that Captain Proton adventure.  It’s not like he’s going to make fun of you.”

B’Elanna glared at him.  “I knew you wouldn’t understand.  I shouldn’t have told you.”  She made to stand up once more.

“B’Elanna—”

She sighed.  “Harry.  I’ve been working for the past ten hours.  I’d like to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”

She left before he had the chance to talk her into feeling guilty.

Once in her quarters, B’Elanna grabbed a handful of hair and paced, heart hammering.  Why hadn’t she been more careful?  Her mind raced through the past three days.  Brogan, Briley, the grooming, the spills and sores and stiff muscles—all that time she’d spent planning to make sure her actions were above suspicion, a waste.  All ruined by her careless nature. 

Still roaming the room, B’Elanna cursed her oversight.  Of course the Fair Haven simulation was a learning program, designed to store everything that happened during use and reference it in later sessions!  How could she have forgotten?  Tom had tailored it to do that, in order to give it a more lived-in feel.  He’d practically soliloquized on it over dinner one night.

_“…Seamus mentioned seeing you there.”_

Harry’s echoing words sent another wave of panic crashing over her.  The thought of Tom knowing how seriously she’d taken this horseback riding thing was terrifying.  She’d put up such a fuss about it, resisted him…he was certain to ask questions.  Questions she dreaded hearing, and refused to answer.  He was sure to make fun of her, too.  The fact that it was in Fair Haven—!  She shuddered, remembering the first time she’d visited the Irish town, and the state she’d been in when Tom found her. 

Before that night, she’d sworn she’d never set foot in the village.  After that night, she’d sworn it again.  But for all her former vehemence, B’Elanna had grown attached to Fair Haven and its inhabitants.  She knew tonight wouldn’t mark the last time she visited the little town.  And then how long could she keep up the charade?  It was only a matter of time before it crumbled about her ankles. 

Briley’s soft eyes flashed through her mind. 

Brogan.  The stables.  Briley.  How would she explain _them_ to Tom?  _“Oh, I installed familiarity subroutines so I’d feel more at home, as if I’d really been taking lessons here for the past week.”_   Yeah, right. 

Groaning, B’Elanna rushed to her computer console.  Pulling up the recreational roster, she checked the holodeck reservations.  There was a two-hour slot open at 1400.  She glanced at the chronometer.  Oh eight-twenty.  She hadn’t planned on going today, but it looked like she had some work to do.  B’Elanna booked the slot, marking it as maintenance, standard priority. 

And she _would_ be doing maintenance.  Just not the kind your average Joe would assume.

B’Elanna suddenly felt drained of energy.  Staggering over to her bed, she kicked off her boots and stripped down to her uniform pants and tank-top.  The night shifts, the sore muscles, the lack of sleep and secret-keeping—they were all catching up to her.  She instructed the computer to wake her at 1300, knowing that she’d need rest and a solid meal before she did anything else.

As she pressed her cheek to the pillow, B’Elanna’s last conscious thought was one of apprehension.

            What if Tom already knew her secret?

* * *

B’Elanna barreled into the stables, a whirlwind of urgency.  Over a replicated lunch in her quarters, she’d decided to start by altering Brogan’s memory subroutines.  But before she could call for the stable master, the bearded man brushed past her, a breeze trailing his progress.  As his massive arm grazed her shoulder, B’Elanna staggered back a few steps. 

“There ye are—finally!  I’ve been waitin’ for th’ past hour!” he bellowed, sending vibrations through her chest.

            “But I told you I wasn’t coming!” she shouted, running to catch up with him.  He was already out the door and halfway to the arena, Briley saddled and trailing behind him.

            “Poppycock!” Brogan exclaimed, and tossed her the reins.  She managed to catch them before they slapped her in the face.  “Now get on th’ horse an’ let’s go.”

            “But I told you—”

            “Ye weren’t coming?  Well, ye’re here, aren’t ye?” Silence.  “That’s what I thought.  Now, I don’t care what ye think ye told me or not.  Ye’re gonna get on that horse an’ ride down t’ th’ beach, just like I tell ye.  Far’s I’m concerned, ye’re still my pupil, an’ I say ye ain’t done learnin’ yet.  Clear?”

            She folded her arms. 

Brogan sighed.  “Look, if ye want t’ impress this young man of yers tonight, ye’re gonna have t’ learn t’ handle a horse somewhere other than a corral.”

B’Elanna’s heart lurched, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t eaten so much lunch.  Had Tom found out?  Or had Harry—?  “How did you know about tonight?  Who told you?”

“None of yer business.”

She’d have to do this the hard way, then.  “Computer, isolate character Brogan O’Connell and delete all references to B’Elanna Torres, timeframe stardate 54034 to stardate 54037.  Authorization Torres zero-beta-four-seven.”

            “Computer, belay that,” a voice countered from behind.  B’Elanna whirled.

            “Harry!  What do you think you’re doing?”

            “Stopping you from doing something stupid.” 

“ _What_?”

“I’m not gonna let you do this.”

            “Do what?”

            “This!” Harry cried, gesturing to a puzzled Brogan.

            She sighed, planting a hand on her hip.  “Look, Harry… I promise I won’t do more than I have to.”

            “No, B’Elanna.  I won’t let you.”

            Her jaw tensed.  “It’s just a computer program.  What’s the big deal?”

            “I could say the same to you.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Harry spread his arms.  “Why’re you doing this, B’Elanna?  What’s so important about keeping these lessons a secret that you’d erase people’s memories?”

            “They’re _holograms_ , Harry, and I told you this morning, you wouldn’t understand.”

            “Understand what, B’Elanna?  That you’re scared to death of making a mistake?  That you feel like you have to know everything to be good enough?”

            “This is ridiculous,” she huffed, even as a lump lodged in her throat. 

            “You bet it is.  Tom’s feelings for you aren’t going to change just because you don’t know how to ride a horse.”

            A tear dropped onto her cheek, but B’Elanna wiped it away savagely.  “You don’t understand,” she choked.

            “What don’t I understand?” he demanded wildly. 

            “You just—you don’t!”

            Harry’s features softened, and he took a step toward her.  “B’Elanna, you don’t have to impress him.  He loves you.”

            She wrapped her arms around her waist.  “How could you know?”

            “Are you kidding?  I’m his best friend; I see it every time your name leaves his lips.  He’s crazy about you.”

            “Yeah?  For how long?”  _Long enough to steal my heart and leave?_ Bitterness put an edge on her voice.  A sharp one. He’d already stolen her heart, and they both knew it.

            A knowing look filled Harry’s black eyes.  “Trust me, B’Elanna—you aren’t just a passing fancy to him.”

            She shuddered, and that was all the encouragement Harry needed.  Moving closer, he enveloped her in a hug, as a brother would his sister.  After a moment, B’Elanna’s arms encircled his waist.  Harry smiled into her shoulder.

            “Now,” he said as they drew apart, “I expect you to tell him about this—” he indicated Briley, “—tonight.”

            The blood drained from her face.  “I can’t.”

            “You can,” he said, eyebrows raised, “and you will.”

            “But—”

            “If you don’t, I’ll drag you to the bridge and make you tell him there.  Got it?”

            She clenched her fists, but nodded. 

            “Good.  And don’t get any ideas about changing things after I leave.  I’ve made sure you can’t.”

At her amazed look, he laughed.  “You may outrank me, Maquis, but there are a few tricks this Starfleet brat has learned that I’d bet you don’t know.  Now go get on that horse.”

With that, he was gone.

Brogan stirred, slapping his thighs as if to wake them up.  “Well, now that we have that settled, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s that?” she asked, turning. 

He scratched his head.  “What in tarnation’s a computer, an’ why were ye tellin’ it t’ isolate me?”


	3. Chapter 3

B’Elanna pushed away her platter of lamb stew and watched Tom enjoy his meal.  The apprehension coiled in her gut made eating about as possible as Janeway landing _Voyager_ on the nearest M-class planet and declaring it their new home.

            “Something the matter with your food?” Tom asked around a mouthful of his own. 

            “No,” she said, twisting her fingers, “I’m just not very hungry.”

            Tom shook his head.  “It’s good stew—Sullivan’s makes the best, y’know.”

            “I know,” she murmured. 

            “Will ye be wantin’ dessert, B’Elanna?” Michael Sullivan asked, his darkly handsome profile coming into view. 

            “No, thank you.”

            “Ye sure?  Cook’s got a warm cherry pie waitin’—right out o’ th’ oven.”

            B’Elanna met the barkeep’s gaze and smiled half-heartedly.  “I’m fine, really.  But thanks anyway.”

            As Sullivan moved away, Tom turned to look at her, spoon resting in his stew.  “You sure you’re all right?”

            She nodded.

            “Headache?  Nausea?  Sore throat?  Should I comm the Doc?”

            “No.  I’m…fine.”  She smiled, with effort.

            “Well…if you say so.” He craned his neck to see out the window.  “Looks to be getting dark—we should head to the stables, if you’re through.”  He grabbed a final mouthful of stew and pushed back from the bar.  B’Elanna followed, threading through the maze of tables and chairs to the door.  Once outside, Tom threw back his head and breathed deeply.

            “Ahh, smell that salt sea air.  Invigorating, isn’t it?”

            B’Elanna managed a tiny smile.  “You’re right.”  She felt Tom’s eyes on her once more, and she did her best to look perky.  Still, Harry’s words rang in her ears like a death knell.  _“I expect you to tell him about this—tonight.”_

When was the best time to do it?  Before they reached the stables?  After they were on the beach?  And how should she broach the subject?  _No, Tom, you don’t hold your reins like that—you’re supposed to thread them through your thumbs and little fingers.  How do I know that?  Oh, I’ve taken a few lessons since Monday night.  Quit slouching—it makes your saddle sores worse._   No, that would never work.

            “Nice t’ see ye, B’Elanna,” a cheery voice called, and _Voyager_ ’s chief engineer was mortified to see Seamus walking past.  With Milo trailing him.  _Oh…no…_

            She tipped her lips into a smile, and managed a nod.  The pair passed by without further comment.

            “That was odd,” Tom said, peering back at the ne’er-do-wells.  “I didn’t know you’d met Seamus and Milo.”

            “I, uh…haven’t.  Word must have gotten around about my…first visit.  Things like that spread, you know.”

            Tom nodded thoughtfully, but B’Elanna could tell he wasn’t convinced.  _The perfect opportunity for you to tell him, and you pass it off with a lie._

            They reached the stables in silence, Tom entering first. 

            “Brogan!” he called, glancing at the stalls on either side.  When quiet greeted him, he turned to B’Elanna.  “I knew I should have put in a request before dinner.”

            “Are you sure he’s here?” she asked, though she knew he was.  Brogan never left the stables—not until they were closed for the evening.

            “He should be.  Seamus said he almost always is this time of day.  Maybe he went home for dinner.  Let’s check the side rooms.”

            Before they could, though, Brogan stepped out of the tack room.  “Someone call me name?”

            “Ah, Brogan.  Tom Paris—from Voyager.  And this is B’Elanna Torres, my date.”

            From her place slightly behind Tom, B’Elanna gave the stable master a pleading look.  _Just a little while longer, and I promise I’ll tell him.  Just let me figure out how to say it first._   Brogan gave an almost imperceptible nod, and B’Elanna wilted in relief.  _Thank you_ , she said with her eyes.

            “Nice t’ meet ye.  What brings ye t’ old Brogan’s place?”

            “We were wanting to take a couple horses down to the beach, see the sunset.  Think you could arrange that?”

            “Cert’nly.”  Brogan gestured, and they followed him down the aisle to a stall holding a chestnut.  “This’s Shamrock, though we call ’im Sham, mostly.  He’ll be yer mount,” he said to Tom.  Angling toward the tack room, he bellowed, “Hey, Kellan!  Get Sham an’ Briley’s tack an’ bring it out here.”

            A muffled reply sounded, and Brogan gestured to B’Elanna.  “C’mon an’ we’ll get ye set up with yer mount.”  Once they were out of Tom’s earshot, he turned to her and, voice more rumble than words, said, “Ye haven’t told ’im yet, have ye?”

            B’Elanna shook her head.

            “Ye’re gonna have t’ tell ’im sometime,” he said, sliding back the bolt to Briley’s door.  “Grab that lead rope there an’ hand it t’ me.”  He snapped the rope onto Briley’s halter—what B’Elanna had termed a head strap three days ago—and paused to look at her.

            “I know—and I will.  Just give me time.  I have to figure out how to say it.”

            “It’s not quantum physics, ye know.”  He chuckled at her stare.  “A phrase I picked up from little Naomi.  She’s quite th’ character.”

            “Yes…I know,” B’Elanna murmured, and longing tinged her voice.

            A knowing gleam lit Brogan’s eyes, making B’Elanna’s second stomach leap-frog over her first.  “I s’pose ye’ll want me t’ tack ’er up for ye.”

            It needed no answer.  Brogan nodded and led Briley from her stall.  They reached the grooming stall in time to witness Tom’s insistence that he could saddle Sham. 

            “Look—I can do it.  Trust me,” he coaxed, holding out his hands for the saddle in Kellan’s arms.

            Kellan looked to his father, confusion and humor coloring his expression.

            “Go ahead an’ let ’im, son.”  Then a look: _He’ll learn soon enough_.  Kellan nodded and surrendered the leather. 

Tom accepted the weight easily, and hoisted it onto Sham’s blanketed back.  As Brogan made quick work of Briley’s abbreviated grooming and saddling, Tom fumbled with the tangled clasps and buckles in Sham’s saddle and bridle.  Meanwhile, B’Elanna struggled to keep her amusement at bay as she watched Tom puzzle over the very things she’d fought with the past three days.  Life had a funny way of throwing things back at you like that.

Tom cinched the saddle girth and passed it through the restraints, nodding happily.  B’Elanna opened her mouth to tell him that Sham had puffed out his belly, the same trick Briley had played on her Tuesday afternoon, but she held back.  Though she knew a few dozen paces down the beach would tip the saddle and send Tom into the surf, right now didn’t seem the best time to disclose her secret.  Turning, she caught Brogan looking at her.  _“What?”_ she mouthed, but he just raised an eyebrow.  She rolled her eyes and turned back to Tom.

“Ready?”

“Yep.  Riders up!”

 _Not in this barn, you don’t!_ she wanted to say, but deferred to Brogan.

“If ye want t’ knock yer head against th’ ceilin’ on yer way out, by all means, do.  Otherwise, follow me.  On foot.”

Tom shot her a look and rolled his eyes, and B’Elanna fought a smile.  If only he knew.  _He will soon enough…_

A few minutes later, following Brogan’s customary thirty-second crash-course in horseback riding, they were on their way to the beach.  Though B’Elanna knew the way, thanks to her final riding lesson that afternoon, she let Tom take the lead, and followed beside him.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he remarked as the horses ambled onto the sand.  The sun was just setting, clothing the sky in raiments of red, orange, gold, and purple. 

B’Elanna smiled, a breeze playing through her hair.  “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.  But you had me wondering if it had anything to do with the company.”

She glanced at him and wondered when the saddle would slip.  He was sitting surprisingly well for someone who’d never ridden a horse before.  “I’ll never tell.”

He laughed gently, and the sound sent shivers down her spine.  She loved him.  Ach, she loved him.  But…did he love her?  She looked at the sky again, resplendent in its fiery hues, softened with its scarves of purple.

Silence enfolded them until the sun dipped below the horizon, sending a final spray of sparks across the water.  It wasn’t until the moon’s rising glow lit the wave-tops that it happened.

“W-w-whoa!” Tom cried, and disappeared.  Immediately after, B’Elanna heard a wet _thunk_.

“Tom!” She pulled Briley to a stop and swung down, catching Sham’s reins in her left hand.  “Are you okay?”

Tom grimaced and rubbed his backside.  “Yeah, I think so.  But what happened?”

Maybe it was the sand all over his clothes, or the seaweed dangling from his hair, or just the fact that he’d had the same misfortune she had, but all of a sudden, B’Elanna was laughing.  And not just snickering, either.  These were full-on belly-laughs, doubling her over and incapacitating her vocal cords.  Finally, she understood why Brogan had laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Tom demanded, sitting up.  Then he saw the saddle, seat hanging under Sham’s belly and saddle blanket adorning his flank, and began to laugh as well.

When at last her convulsions ceased and B’Elanna could stand upright, she pulled Tom to his feet.  As she brushed him off, bursts of giggles escaped her lips every few seconds.  The face he pulled when she showed him the seaweed nearly paralyzed her anew. 

Once her date was as clean as he was going to get without a sonic shower and recycler, she turned her attention to the saddle.  Surveying the all-too-familiar mess, B’Elanna suddenly knew what to do.  Still chuckling occasionally, she stepped up to Sham and loosed the saddle girth, pulling it off with one arm and straightening the blanket with the other.  Within minutes, she’d re-saddled the chestnut gelding and handed the reins to Tom.  Only then did she allow herself to notice his shocked expression.

“W-where’d you learn to do that?”

Her heart fluttered, whether from nerves or the sight of him standing in the moonlight, she didn’t know.  “I’ve been taking lessons since you asked me out.”

“Really?  Why?” 

The apprehension slithered into her gut once more, hissing at the question and stopping the words in her throat. 

_“I expect you to tell him everything—tonight.”_

_“Ye’re gonna have t’ tell ’im sometime.”_

How to explain what she’d felt the minute he’d asked her out?  How to convey the blazing embarrassment she suffered whenever someone mentioned Fair Haven, or describe the nausea roiling in her stomachs at the thought of going back there?

“I—I don’t know,” she said finally, deflating.  _But you do know, Torres.  Go ahead—tell him.  No?  Why not?  Are you afraid?_   “Wait—I do know.  It’s because…well…”

Tom moved closer, his eyes brushing hers tenderly.  “It’s okay, B’Elanna.  You can tell me.”

 _But I can’t.  What if you’re like my father?  What if I tell you everything, and trust you with my heart, and then you walk out on me?_ Knowing that she couldn’t avoid seeing him on such a small ship only made things worse, doubled her heartache. 

“Bee?” he asked, and the endearment melted her.

“I—I was afraid.”

His brow furrowed.  “Afraid?  Afraid of what?”

“Afraid…that I’d disappoint you.”

He smiled softly, letting a laugh catch in his throat.  “B’Elanna, we’re all gonna disappoint each other sometime.”

“So…you’re saying it would have disappointed you?”

“No!”

“Then…what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that something as trivial as horseback riding won’t change the way I feel about you.”

“And how’s that, Tom?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

He gazed at her, blue eyes luminous in the moonlight.  Then, with his right hand, he brushed her hair back from her cheek and leaned close, touching his lips to hers.

As he pulled back to search her eyes, he whispered, “Does that answer your question, B’Elanna Torres of _Voyager_?”

Her tension melted away, and she smiled, kissing him back.  “Yes,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “I believe it does.”  They held each other for a long moment.

A snort broke the stillness, and then a velvety nose pushed in to lip B’Elanna’s hair.  “Hey!” she cried, pushing Briley away, “Way to ruin a mood.” 

“I’d almost forgotten about them,” Tom laughed.

“Guess that’s her way of telling us to get on with the ride.”  She tossed Sham’s reins to Tom and ran Briley’s over her head.  “Give me a boost?” she asked.  Once in the saddle, something occurred to her.

“You called me B’Elanna Torres of _Voyager_.  Where’d that come from?”

“Well, your name is B’Elanna Torres, and you are from _Voyager_ , right?”  Tom’s tone was innocent enough, but she’d known him too long to be fooled.  She narrowed her eyes.

“No, I’m from Kessik IV, and you know it.  So spill it, flyboy.”

Tom looked up at her, eyes dancing.  “All right, you caught me.”

 _No…he couldn’t have—_ “You _knew_!  But— _how_?”

He grinned.  “Let’s just say a certain sidekick let his partner know of some troubling news oh, about…fourteen-thirty hours this afternoon.”

“The little _petaQ_!” she growled, twisting her reins.  All that tension, the stress, the agonizing over what to say— “Just wait till I get done with him!”

“Hey now, he was just worried about you.  Don’t get all bent out of shape, Bee.”

“I’ll worry him—right out the nearest airlock!”

“That’s not fair.  Plus, he made me promise not to tell anything until after you’d spilled your guts.”

“Ohh!” she wheeled Briley around, prepared to try out her new galloping skills, but Tom drew Sham up beside her and stopped her with a sound kiss.

She pulled away, breathless. 

“Besides,” Tom grinned, “I’ve been taking lessons, too.”  He frowned, looking down at the saddle.  “Just not the grooming and tacking part.  Too impatient.  Brogan didn’t like it much, but…he got over it.”

 _Brogan?_ “But—that means…he knew the whole time!  And he didn’t—”  The rest of her words blurred into a growl.  

Tom flashed his Captain Proton smile and gathered his reins. 

For a moment, B’Elanna felt read to fly apart.  But then, despite her anger and frustration and the shock of Tom’s revelation, she laughed.  And it was a beautiful sound—a freeing sound.

She crouched in the saddle and slid her hands up Briley’s neck.  “Catch me if you can, flyboy!”

With that, she gave a good squeeze and was gone, galloping down the beach.  With a shout, Tom gave chase, and their laughter spilled into the moonlight, fading, but never ending, as silver as the trail of hoof-prints etched into the sand.

Further down the beach, two men, one brawny and bearded, the other young and uniformed, stepped from behind a sand dune and smiled, silently congratulating each other on their success.  _Score one for true love_ , they thought. 

With a little help from friends, of course.


End file.
